


For a Given Value of Sanity

by Anyawen



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Don't copy to another site, F/M, Mary POV, not-villain Mary, though still not good Mary
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-09
Updated: 2019-09-09
Packaged: 2020-10-13 15:08:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20584532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anyawen/pseuds/Anyawen
Summary: Mary receives a visitor at 221b while John and Sherlock are out. Understandings are reached. One-shot. Post HLV. S3 compliant.





	For a Given Value of Sanity

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published on ff.net 1/23/14
> 
> Thanks to Sevenpercent and kate221b for the loan of their eyeballs.

Mary smiled and rubbed her stomach as the tightness passed.

"Should I phone John? He shouldn't have left you, close as you are."

"I'm fine, Mrs Hudson. They're just Braxton-Hicks contractions – nothing to be worried about. Three weeks yet, you know," Mary responded, allowing the older woman to drape an afghan over her as she sat in Sherlock's armchair with a clear view of the door. "And you know John had to go out."

"I know, dear, I know. Tea?"

"Really, Mrs Hudson, you needn't trouble yourself."

"It's not trouble, dear, it's tea," Mrs Hudson replied, smiling. "Milk and sugar?"

"Just milk, please. And thank you."

Mary leaned her cheek down slightly into the hand Mrs Hudson laid on her shoulder before turning toward the kitchen. She watched the other woman tense slightly when the doorbell rang. Mary met her gaze when she turned round, giving her a calm smile, even as she dropped a hand between the seat cushion, closing her hand over the butt of the gun hidden there.

"Ready?" Mrs Hudson asked. At Mary's brief nod, she continued, "I'll just go see who that could be, then."

Mary didn't tell the older woman to be careful – they both knew that she would be. Mary listened as Mrs Hudson's footsteps sounded down the stairs. She heard the door creak open and tensed, then relaxed at the older woman's voice.

"Oh, you've just missed the boys, Mr Holmes."

"That's a pity," a male voice replied. Mary frowned. It wasn't Mycroft. It was … Mr Holmes, senior.

"I don't know how long they'll be out," Mrs Hudson continued apologetically. "You're welcome to wait, of course, but it might be hours, or days, knowing the two of them. Still, Mary might like the company."

"Oh, is Mrs Watson upstairs? Well, then. If you think she won't mind a visit? I wouldn't want to disturb her."

"Do come up, Mr Holmes," Mary called down the stairs, moving her hand away from the gun to smooth the afghan over her lap and belly.

Mary smiled as the older Holmes entered the flat, reaching out her hands to squeeze his in greeting. He smiled back, then sat facing her in John's armchair.

"I'll just make us all a cuppa," Mrs Hudson said, moving into the kitchen.

"What brings you down to London, Mr Holmes?" Mary asked as Mrs Hudson puttered around in the kitchen.

"Please, call me Carlton," he responded with a smile. "Martine wanted to attend a lecture at LSE. Been talking about it for weeks. One of her former colleagues is presenting his findings about something or other. Thought, given the circumstances, it'd be good to come on up to London and see if we couldn't visit Sherlock and Mycroft at the same time. And with you and John, as well."

"I'm pleased to be included in your visit, Carlton," Mary said.

"Well, you're family, aren't you?"

"It means a great deal to me that you think so."

"Here you are, then," Mrs Hudson said, putting the tea tray down on the coffee table.

"Oh, lovely," Mr Holmes replied as he put sugar into his teacup, allowing Mrs Hudson to pour the tea. "Thank you, Mrs Hudson. I only wish we had some of your fantastic ginger biscuits to go with it."

"I should have remembered that you liked those. They're Sherlock's favorites, too," Mrs Hudson said with a smile as she poured Mary's tea. "You know, it would only take a half hour to make up a batch. Be a nice treat for the boys to come home to."

"That's very kind of you, Mrs Hudson, but you're not their housekeeper."

"No, you're quite right, Mr Holmes. I do enjoy spoiling them a bit now and then, however."

"Well, if you're quite determined, I can't say that I'd be opposed to a biscuit or three."

"I'll just go downstairs and get started. You two make yourselves at home up here."

"Thank you, Mrs Hudson," Mary called after the landlady as she headed down the stairs.

She turned her smile back to Mr Holmes and froze.

He held his hand outstretched, palm up. In it rested a charred thumb drive keychain with the letters A.G.R.A. still visible.

"Most of the data is lost, but enough remains to be rather enlightening," he said pleasantly. "I know your name, my dear. I suspect that makes you deeply uncomfortable. The last person to have that knowledge was a blackmailer. Please let me reassure you, I am no such threat. There is no need to reach for the weapon you must have to hand."

Mary tightened the hands she had wrapped around her teacup.

"I would never."

"You already have done, once, haven't you?"

"I didn't want to."

"I imagine not. I rather hope that it pained you to shoot my son. Not enough to stop you, though."

"No," she agreed, breathless.

"He knows it was you."

"Yes. He knew before I pulled the trigger."

"And he still invited you for Christmas. You and John," Mr Holmes said. "John knows? Yes, of course he knows. Sherlock wouldn't keep that from him."

"No, indeed, he wouldn't," Mary replied. "I did ask him not to tell him, but he did anyway. Told John the truth. Well, tricked me into telling it."

"Sounds like my boy."

"Then he lied to him."

"That also sounds like him."

"You don't want to know what he said?"

"I can guess, given that John seems to have forgiven you. Christmas day, wasn't it? That was the conversation John came in to have with you. That was when this," he held up the thumb drive, "found its way into my fireplace."

"Yes," Mary said. "I gave him that, the night he found out about me. He didn't read it."

"He didn't have to."

"What do you mean?"

"The only thing John has ever needed to know about you, Mary, is that Sherlock approves of you. And it's clear that he does, even after you shot him."

"John doesn't need Sherlock's approval."

"No, but he wants it. And Sherlock gave it. Why do you suppose he did that?"

"I wish I knew," Mary replied. "I don't know what goes on in that head of his. I only know that I love John, and he loves me. And Sherlock loves John, and wants him to be happy."

"He also wants John to be _safe_," Mr Holmes responded.

"Sherlock knows that I would kill for John."

"Oh, I believe we've already seen evidence of that, dear," Mr Holmes replied seriously. "Though, clearly, Sherlock would do, as well."

Mary watched him. She still couldn't tell if their discussion was confrontational or conversational.

"Of course, he'd also die for John. Has done. Three times, now."

"Three?"

"The suicide. He jumped off that building and ran off to track down Moriarty's network. He did it because there were snipers trained on Mrs Hudson, Detective Inspector Lestrade, and John. He did it knowing he might not ever come back, giving up his life and his work to protect his friends and family."

"Oh," Mary breathed. "He never said."

"Didn't he? Well. In that case, he probably also didn't say that his aborted mission to Eastern Europe was a death sentence?"

Mary was surprised to find that her hands were shaking as she brought them to her mouth.

"He said, but … not like that. He said we wouldn't see him again. I wondered, but it didn't _have_ to mean ..."

"But it did," Mr Holmes replied with a sad nod. "Mycroft's hands were tied."

They sat in silence, sipping at their tea.

"I was the third time."

"Yes, you were," he agreed. "The only time he actually died protecting John, it was at your hands."

"Protecting John?"

"By helping you."

Mary sipped at her nearly-cold tea.

"What are you going to do now?" Mr Holmes asked.

"What am I …? Well, honestly, I thought this was the part of the conversation where you told me what you expected me to do. You know who and what I am. You know what I've done, for John, and to him. And what I've done to Sherlock."

"I am not Magnussen, to use your past against you. Nor am I Mycroft, who would use your … skills … in the political power games he plays. I only want to know that my sons, and their families and friends, are safe," Mr Holmes replied. He met her gaze calmly. "Are they?"

"Yes," Mary whispered.

"Well, that's sorted, then," Mr Holmes said cheerfully.

He offered her the damaged thumb drive, but Mary shook her head, watching as he slipped it back into his pocket.

"I do have one small request," he said after a moment.

Mary tensed, tilting her head in invitation for him to continue. He smiled fondly at her.

"Well, as you're aware, Martine and I have no grandchildren of our own. I'd hoped you might allow us to dote on your little one a bit now and then."

Mary laughed, relief giving her laughter a touch of hysteria. She rested a hand on her expanded middle as though to ease a stitch. Another wave of tightness gripped her, and she smiled through it.

"Mr Holmes – Carlton – I know that I speak for John when I say that we would be delighted to have you act in-loco-grandparentis for our daughter, though you'll have to share with Mrs Hudson."

"Oh, dear. Your little one is going to be so very terribly spoilt."

"Sounds marvelous," Mary agreed. She gave him a warm smile. "You were wrong, you know."

"Oh?"

"You're not a moron."

"Ah," he said, huffing out a laugh. "Yes, well. Not a genius, but clever enough I suppose. Though, clearly, you were wrong, as well."

"How do you mean?"

"I'm also not the sane one."


End file.
